Triton Mourns His Daughter
by Estoma
Summary: "Mad is what people like you call someone they don't understand." For Clara, a late birthday gift.


**Author's note: For Clara, as a late birthday gift. I'm sorry we were late. Here is some AU Finnick/Annie for you and I hope you like it. Using the prompt 'conformist' from the Silver Challenge in the Caesar's Palace. **

**Triton Mourns His Daughter**

Swirls of dry leaves brushed about the base of the fountain, driven by the sharp easterly. The leaves made a faint clattering against the stone, like a hundred little footsteps. A sudden stronger gust picked up half a dozen of them and whirled them around the statue at the center of the fountain.

It was King Triton, the majestic lord of the sea. Yet in this quiet, back street square, where grass grew in uneven tufts through the cracks in the footpath, he was portrayed quite differently.

Water poured from the statue's eyes, and his trident was lowered, held parallel to the surface of the water. A small copper plaque, turning slightly green with age, set into the rim, said simply, 'Triton mourns his daughter. 1971.'

A spider web spanned the mouth of Triton's twisted conch shell trumpet, through which a bit of piping could be seen. The particularly tenacious spinner was not in sight; perhaps one day a thread had broken and it drowned by the drooping fins of Triton's tail.

Even if the web was no longer used as a net to ensnare the spider's prey, it still was of some use. The lip of the conch shell must have protected it from the wind, for it was still intact. A few droplets of water clung to the threads and when the light from the moon hit them, they lit up like pearls in a lady's hairnet.

Reflected on the rippled surface of the water, the moon, somewhere between a crescent and a quarter, appeared insubstantial. It was never still, but there was something alluring about the ever changing slashes of silver on the dark water.

Triton was not alone in his grief. A young woman sat on the pavement, leaning her elbows on the cold stone rim of the fountain. Tilting her head forwards, she gazed intently at the reflection of the moon, as if trying to gauge its shape. It did not occur to her to look up at the sky and know for sure.

So intent was she on her contemplation, she did not notice the way the ends of her tangled, brown hair trailed the surface of the water, creating ripples of their own. The faint hum of voices from the small pub a few streets away made no impression on her either.

Not even the wind distracted the young woman, though it whipped her white dress tight against her body, and raised goose bumps on her bare arms. Her feet, bereft of shoes, were pale and the veins showed starkly from the cold.

Another gust caught a handful of leaves and hurled them against her shins. For the most part, they were brown but one was a vivid red, even in the intermittent light cast by the few streetlamps that bordered the square. It swirled upwards, dipped to touch the water for a moment, and rose again. Its journey halted abruptly when the wind pinned it to the middle tine of the stone trident. It looked like a heart, impaled there, before the wind swept it on again, out of the square.

Tumbling, carried by a force much stronger than it, the leaf was born away from the stunted oak in the square where it grew and fell. It came to rest, briefly on the footpath outside the District Hotel. The local youth simply called it 'Victor's' after the owner who was a prominent figure in the small, beach side community.

For a moment, the leaf rested before it was disturbed by the footsteps of one of the patrons. It crunched under his foot, and took to the air again, a little battered, leaving pieces of itself behind in the cracks of the footpath.

With hands in his pockets, and head down, the young man walked doggedly past the line of teens arguing over the two taxis pulled up outside the pub. As he walked, the noise faded into the background and was replaced with the faint splash of water from the fountain. The only reason anyone walked through Pallas Square was because it was a shortcut between Victor's and the main taxi rank on Franklin Street.

The girl had not moved, though her feet had long since gone to sleep underneath her, and her skin was nearly as cold as the stone. The only movement she had made was to track the moon's progress across the dark water. It was under the stone trident now, as if Triton might spear it, could he stir himself from his grief.

"Hey!" The girl did not look up, even though the voice was magnified by the square. "You alright?"

Instead of answering, she trailed one finger across the water, unintentionally stirring her hair so it waved like seaweed. Quick footsteps produced a confused echo on the footpath and the girl startled, showing a reaction at least, when someone touched her shoulder.

Her small scream echoed sharply as she tried to rise, but stumbled on her numb legs. The rim of the fountain caught the back of her knees as she tried to turn and rise at the same time.

"Are you drunk?" the young man asked. He took a step closer to her.

The water was cold, and the reflection of the moon was shattered when the girl put her foot in the fountain and crossed it in four unsteady steps. She clung to the stone arm of the statue and hid behind it, peering out above the trident.

"What the hell? I just asked if you were alright. I thought you'd passed out or something," the young man said irritably. "Suit yourself."

As he turned to go, he hesitated and looked back. The girl still watched him, with her eyes wide, clinging to the stone as if it would protect her, or maybe it was the water she thought was a barrier against evil.

"Sorry, I didn't want to scare you, but you know, there's a few drunks out tonight, I'd feel pretty bad if you needed help and nobody checked."

"That's…okay," she said softly.

The boy thrust his hands deep into his pockets again, fondling his house key between his fingers. "Um, what were you doing?"

"Watching the moon," she replied.

"In the fountain?"

"It's….better that way. Less sharp," she answered, tentatively stepping from behind the statue, though she still kept one hand on Triton's stone arm.

"You came out at one in the morning to watch the moon in a fountain?" the young man shook his head.

"Why, don't you ever do anything that's different to everyone else?" She asked it earnestly, with her head on the side, as if she really did expect an honest answer.

"I don't know," he shrugged.

"No, I didn't think you did," she said sadly. "You were probably at Victor's, with a girl too, or maybe a couple, but it didn't mean anything; you only did it because your friend was egging you on."

The young man's eyes opened wider and he took an unintentional step back, feet dragging on the concrete. Another leaf crunched under his foot. "How do you know that's what I was doing? I might have a girlfriend that I love."

"If you did, you'd be back with her now, not talking to a mad girl in a fountain." The girl didn't exactly turn away, but she angled her body, and tilted her head to look down at her pale feet in the water, and the way the it soaked and darkened the hem of her dress. It was a dismissal.

The boy didn't take it as one. He took a step closer. "Are you mad, is that why you're out here?"

"No," she said, without taking her gaze away from the water, "but that's what people call someone they can't understand. People like you always say it."

"People like me?"

Water cascaded from her hand as the girl stooped to cup a handful. She watched the droplets fall back and didn't seem to care that her dress was soaked at least up to her knees. It clung to her calves, turning see through. She didn't say anything.

"Did you hear me?" he asked.

"Yes, I did."

"Well, what do you mean then?"

She took her time answering. Once more, she filled her hands with water, and this time let it trickle over the stone hand of the statue. Its head, torso and legs were wet from the water pouring from its eyes, but the hands had remained dry so far. When she turned around suddenly and fixed him with the most alert look he had seen from her so far, the young man nearly gasped. She looked pretty, but more than that, she looked present. It was the first time he felt she had really been there in the conversation.

"Do you know why Triton's crying?" she asked.

"What? It's called something about his daughter, isn't it?" he asked, drawing his eyebrows together.

"Would you like me to tell it?"

"Okay then."

By the time they sat down on the rim of the fountain, the moon had moved across, nearly to the edge. The girl trailed her hand in the water, as if she really thought she was touching the room.

"The fountain is called 'Triton mourns his daughter,'", she began slowly. "Triton had many daughters, but his eldest was Pallas. From when she was a little girl, she was raised to be a warrior, and would often train with her friend Athena. But once, Zeus saw them fighting, and he held up an aegis above Pallas. She looked up and tried to protect herself. Athena didn't notice her friend was distracted, and she didn't mean to, but she couldn't stop her sword in time. She killed Pallas. Her father knew it when her blood seeped into the river where they were fighting and flowed back to the ocean. That is why he is crying."

"That's…that's a good story," he said.

"How do you know it's only a story?"

"Well, it's a myth, isn't it, there's no Triton, no Athena, really."

The girl looked saddened. She looked down at the water again, swirling her finger around the moon as if it were dough in a mixing bowl. She started to drift away again.

"I was afraid you'd say that," she said. "Most people are like that. Just because they can't see something…"

"I know about that, actually," he said quickly. The way the girl looked at him, suddenly, made him draw a quick breath. She gave his face the same attention she gave the reflected moon. His voice was slower. "I'm a part time lifeguard in summer. Once, there was this kid we pulled in. He wasn't breathing, but I did CPR. He was dead, least he looked it, and then the next second he was choking and coughing. There had to be something there…something….I don't know…."

"There are more things, on heaven and earth, Horatio…" the girl murmured.

"What's that?"

"Shakespeare. He knew about things like that," she said.

"You could tell me about some of these things," he suggested. "We could go for coffee, now."

"And what's open now? MacDonald's?" she laughed for the first time. It wasn't a laugh like most girls; it was deeper, and sadder. It sounded rusty too. "I think I'll watch the moon for a bit longer."

"Can I watch with you then?"

"Do you really want to?"

"I do. Maybe I'll see what you see in it?"

"I'm not sure about that," she shrugged, "but it might be nice to have some company for once."


End file.
